


Head Over Feet (Was Always the Plan)

by qwanderer



Series: Rarepair Prompt Fills [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, F/M, Fake Marriage, M/M, Multi, Undercover as Married, deaf!Clint, uncomfortable Bruce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-12 22:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2126820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwanderer/pseuds/qwanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Banner spooks and runs pretty easily. But he's never been under quite this kind of scrutiny before. It's safer to stick to his cover identity, for now.</p><p>And Bruno Werner has no plausible reason to want to leave the country. At least, not yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Head Over Feet (Was Always the Plan)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shmabs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shmabs/gifts).



> I took over filling this prompt on Monday, and the seed of inspiration grew pretty quick! BE IMPRESSED.
> 
> For the most part this is post-canon, but I'm kinda just ignoring the part where Strike Team Delta's faces and resumes have been plastered all over the internet. Although Nat's disguised pretty well and they might have gone back and erased Clint's image from the net pretty thoroughly? Let's just say it's open to interpretation.
> 
> Also I speak neither German nor ASL and have never been to Luxembourg, so please forgive any inaccuracies in those areas.

In Diekirch, Luxembourg, there was a splinter group of Hydra so secret, so isolationist, that they and SHIELD had never shared files, traded personnell, or even sent so much as an encoded message. The group had been working, underground, since the death of Arnim Zola - the human version. Their founder. Their base predated the first fall of Hydra, because even then, its existence was so guarded that not even Johann Schmidt had ever suspected it. 

Their protocols were for complete information blackout, but had been designed in a time before information technology ballooned to twenty-first century proportions. There were signs of their presence, in the supplies they purchased and even in the pains they took to remain anonymous, that there was something suspicious happening. 

Supersoldier serum research, in point of fact. Jarvis was almost sure. 

* * *

In Diekirch, Luxembourg, Bruno Werner went to his usual grocery store, picked up some of his usual staples, a couple of interesting chocolates, and also as usual, stopped to contemplate the condiments, picking a new hot sauce to try. 

Bruce Banner, as he was also known, picked up his intelligence packet from under the mustard shelf, where it was attached with magnets. 

He went home, put away his groceries, and then went to the desk in his bedroom to open the packet. 

There was something unusual about today. 

The packet held a burn phone, and a note telling him to give a call immediately, somewhere outside his usual circuit and preferably near moving water. Bruce's tension level ratcheted up significantly, and he sat for a minute, breathing deliberately slowly and evenly, before he went out to find a park bench near a fountain. 

He hit speed dial 1, and soon Clint picked up, cheerful enough, and some of Bruce's tension eased. He wouldn't sound like that if anyone were hurt, if there was imminent danger. 

"Hey, Doc," Clint was saying. "How you holding up?" 

"I'd say pretty well," he answered. "Easier than most of the time I've spent living under the radar. And hey, new phone. So how are things on your end?" 

"Soooo... there've been some new developments. Nat left a packet for me at the secondary drop point. The research group has pinged your presence here as suspicious. They don't know for sure who you are - the beard does a great job, by the way, I hardly recognize you, you're like half mountain man, half bear - but you've got surveillance on you and we don't think you can afford to do any more pickups." 

"No more fancy mustard for me, I guess," Bruce answered. "Is it time to leave?" 

"The thing is," said Clint, and Bruce was almost certain he wasn't going to like what came next. "The thing is, running is pretty much the most suspicious thing you could do. If you run, they'll be after you in a second. They'll know who you are, and they won't have any more qualms about taking you out. Exposure is their number one fear here. And we don't have the kind of backup we would've when SHIELD was still a thing. We've got Stark, I guess, long as he's not busy, but he's a little conspicuous, and it'd turn into a race. I'd rather not run unless we have to." 

"So what do you suggest?" Bruce asked, trying to ignore his trepidation. 

"They've got people embedded in law enforcement, of course - that's been Hydra's SOP since Cap took 'em down - so we can't do much to change your backstory without their noticing. We need to keep you bein' a convincing Bruno, and create a reason for Bruno to leave the country. Not right away, but soon." 

"Okay," Bruce said, nodding although he knew Clint couldn't see. Well, he _assumed_ Clint couldn't see. He had no idea where Clint had been based and how close he had been sticking to Bruce as his invisible backup. "So what are the options?" 

"Well, we'd want to get you away clean, preferably a flight to the US, without attracting attention so your visa paperwork would have to go through the normal channels. Vacation visas? Hard to get when you've got no living family in Luxembourg and you just moved to the city and got this job. But leaving for employment'd be suspicious to the Hydra folks, they know how much you enjoy the clinic here. One o'the main points in the file arguing for your being a harmless random German dude." 

"It's nice to live somewhere so pretty and be able to help people here, but I don't really want this cover to be permanent," Bruce said with a hint of dry sarcasm. "What else do you have?" 

"Educational visa, well, you'd have to do all the stuff to get into a school, sure you know more about that than I do," Clint said. 

"That... could take a while," Bruce pondered. 

"And it's a little weird with your age and how awesome you are at your job. So all we've got left is the one where you marry a US citizen," Clint concluded. 

"But if we're trying to avoid suspicion, Nat needs to stay in her current cover too. So that's no good." 

"Wasn't thinking of her," Clint said. "Luxembourg's one of the progressive countries. So, you know. There's me." 

There was a brief silence. 

"Come on, Doc. Don't leave me hangin' with something like that." His voice held just an edge of laughter. "Whattya say, whirlwind romance, faster an' easier than applying to colleges, or not?" 

"That...." Bruce continued attempting to process. "That could potentially work." 

"We'd have to sell it, give 'em some PDA. That OK with you? I know you're a little twitchy and normally I wouldn't invade your personal space, but the best way to protect you and Nat right now is to go for this, make it believable." 

Bruce took a moment to consider that. 

"You know what, we can always go with one of the other plans," Clint said, interrupting his train of thought. "A little more risk discovery-wise but if it keeps you more comfortable, that's kinda a safety factor too." 

Something in Bruce panicked at the withdrawal of that excuse for physical contact. "No, your plan is good," he said a little too quickly. "I don't mind." 

"You sure?" Clint asked. 

"Yeah, I mean, if you are," Bruce answered. "It's okay with me now, as far as kissing and... whatever else is realistic to be doing out in public, but if they've got surveillance on me now, we can't be sure it won't ever go past that point... I mean, I don't think I'll... hulk out. But I've never taken the chance." 

Clint made a surprised noise over the phone line. "You haven't... like at all?" 

"Not... with anyone else present. Or nearby. The chances of my emotions getting the better of me in a situation like that are... not negligible." He laughed, a little breathy chuckle. "Plus, invincibility notwithstanding... I don't really want to get on Natasha's bad side." 

"Smart man," Clint said immediately. "But it's not a deal you have to worry about," he continued. "Our thing? It's totally open. No rules against me doing anything I want with you. Or, you know, anyone. Don't usually take advantage of that myself, but Nat... well, if I'm lucky, she lets me watch." 

"I can't believe we're talking about this. I can't believe I'm talking about this in a public park." 

"Kinda gotta talk about it now," Clint countered. "They've got your apartment watched, Doc. I know you keep the bedroom curtains closed, but they've got laser mics. We can fake it if we have to, but we need to figure out your boundaries now, if we can't talk about them while we're undercover...." 

There was a thoughtful silence over the phone. 

"What is it?" Bruce asked. 

"Hey, Doc, do you know much sign language?" 

"I can get by in American, not that familiar with the local varieties. Why?" 

Bruce could hear the smile in Clint's voice as he answered. "Then I think we'll be fine." 

* * *

The meeting went pretty much exactly as planned. Bruce was walking down to the store when, a few yards ahead of him, an American tourist in a souvenir T-shirt, cargo pants and a ridiculous swagger walked out of a bookstore and promptly tripped over a bike rack. 

Bruce's eyes widened, and he rushed to the stranger, asking "Are you all right?" in first German, then switching to English. 

The stranger cringed, grabbing his leg. "Think I twisted my ankle. Great place to do it, too, middle of nowhere, Europe." 

Bruce frowned as a proud local would have done. "We're not exactly rural." He gestured to the offending ankle. "May I? I'm a nurse." 

"Yeah, sure." The guy laughed, slightly pained. "Lucky you were here. All medically, and you speak good English." 

Bruce inclined his head. "I went to college in America. And my parents were from Germany and they spoke English pretty well. French, I can just barely manage, and I'm not that great at Luxembourgish, actually." He prodded gently at the ankle in question. 

The ankle was fine. 

"It's definitely sprained," he told the bleached blond stranger. "Here, let me help you back to my place. It's just a couple of blocks, and I can bandage it for you." 

"Hey, thanks, that'd be great," the guy said. "By the way, I'm Clay. Clay Johnson. And I am obviously horribly American. Apologize for that. Been taking a little tour of Europe recently, but looks like I'm staying put here for a while. Pretty place, at least." He grinned disarmingly as Bruno helped him up. 

"Bruno Werner," Bruce said as he slipped himself in under Clint's shoulder and began leading the way to his apartment. "And I wouldn't mind you sticking around for a little bit. We may not be quite the middle of nowhere, but I have to admit, we can be a little low on excitement." 

Clint chuckled, and the vibrations went all through Bruce's body in an instant. 

It took no effort at all to act the part of a man suddenly struck by the attraction he felt to the muscular man pressed to his side. 

* * *

Bruno brought Clay home, wrapped his ankle, made him coffee, and after a few hours, of course offered his couch as an alternative to the crowded hostel where Clay had been planning to stay. They sat on the balcony, chatted about anything and everything, where they'd traveled and what places they liked best. 

"I like it here," Bruno said. "It's a city, so everything's convenient, but up to the north there's all this empty forest, this wilderness. I grew up a little farther south, where it's not so much like that. We took vacations up north, though, and I've always wanted to move closer." 

"Kinda how I feel about New York, actually. I mean it's obviously a huge chunk of city. But the rest of the state? Lotsa forests, plenty of space. There's a place just a couple hours' drive away where I go to practice my bowhunting." 

Bruno made a face. 

Clay laughed. "What, not really your thing?" 

"Not so crazy about weapons," Bruno agreed. 

"Well, you gotta patch people up. I get that." He reached for Bruno's hand. "You're the kinda guy who's too gentle for his own good. I can tell." 

Bruno looked at him with a disbelieving but flattered smile. "You can tell that, huh?" 

"Absolutely. Moment I laid eyes on you." 

Their hands tangled together effortlessly. 

Bruno broke the comfortable silence. "Plus, two hours, really? It doesn't take that long to get from one end of Luxembourg to the other." 

"Yeah, you've got a fucking tiny country," Clay answered. 

Bruno chuckled helplessly, slumping down in his chair. "You want to go there?" 

"New York City is as big as your country," he continued. 

"That is an exaggeration," Bruno objected. "And not really a selling point." 

"Yeah, I mean, can't deny that you've got an awful pretty little 'city' here. It's growing on me. But New York? New York's a _city._ " 

"You're an asshole," Bruno said, still laughing. 

Clay grinned. 

* * *

The next day Bruno had a shift in the clinic, and he was surprised to find that several people commented that he looked happy. Bruce supposed there was something to be said for having a social life, even a fake one. 

Before the week was out, Elise had demanded to meet the person who was putting that bounce in his step. He said they could all meet for lunch the next time he and Elise got the same day off. 

Bruno and Clay spent the whole time flirting, Bruno awkwardly and Clay unapologetically. Elise spent at least half the meal giggling at them, even though her English wasn't good enough to follow every one of their comments. 

"Er ist schrecklich," Elise stage-whispered to Bruno. "Halten ihn." 

Bruce watched Clint's eyes sparkle. Because Clint actually did know enough German to recognize that he'd just been called 'appalling' but was still apparently a keeper. 

"Oh, das ist sehr ermutigend," Bruno said, rolling his eyes. 

"Okay, you two, stop it," Clay whined. "I'm a poor dumb American tourist and my ankle hurts." He pouted at them pathetically. 

Bruno slapped him on the arm. 

* * *

It all fell together like one of those inevitable things, which it was, Bruce supposed, since it was all part of the plan. 

Flirting and helping Clay out with his ankle and providing food for the two of them turned into going out with him to make sure he didn't reinjure himself, which turned into walking arm in arm and losing track of time looking at the view, which turned into ducking into a doorway to get out of a sudden downpour and kissing, damp and heated, before rushing home, all laughter, and... 

They hadn't had a plausible reason before now to both be in the bedroom at the same time, outside the range of prying eyes and able to drop cover, if even just a little, to reassess. 

"We've gotta get out of these wet clothes," Clint was saying, but his hands were moving not to take off his tee, but to say, <How are you holding up?>

"That might be a good idea," Bruce agreed, and stopped unbuttoning his shirt long enough to return, <Okay. Nervous. No danger yet.>

Clint stripped his tee with military efficiency. "I feel like a cliche," he said, "but I'm really cold. Wanna combine body heat?" His hands said, <Okay. Let me know if there's a problem. Follow my lead, I can make this sound good. Moan a little when I tell you?>

"You're terrible," Bruce muttered. "Yeah, okay." <Not sure how convincing I'll be.>

<Hey, some people are just quiet. I've known some.> "I am wet. And cold. And I love you." 

"Wow. That is something I don't hear every day. Probably because I can't understand stray kittens when they talk." <I wasn't.> Bruce stripped out of everything but his boxers and dived under the blankets, curling up into a ball and shivering slightly. 

Clint chuckled. "You _would_ bring stray kittens in out of the rain."  <So I'll work with whatever you've got.>

"You love it. Come here and kiss me." <Seriously, come kiss me.>

Clint came and lay beside him, on top of the blankets, and gave him a questioning look. Bruce nodded, and pulled him in for a kiss, a luxurious, wet, open thing, that certainly made the kind of noise they'd be expecting. 

Bruce pulled back and closed his eyes, breath already a little harsh. When he didn't move for a minute, Clint shifted back to sitting on the bed, and Bruce could hear him making all the noises of a good makeout session all by himself. Bruce wasn't sure if looking would make things better or worse. 

He did open his eyes, and Clint was sitting cross-legged, calm as you please, but breathing noisily through his mouth and moving the skin of his hands across each other, now sliding to make the soft sound of a caress, now tapping to replicate the gentle slap of bodies coming together. 

He was a spy, and he was a partner of one of the most devious and attractive spies in the business. Of course he had this. 

Then Clint started being vocal. 

It made Bruce intensely uncomfortable, because while he knew this was all business for Clint, his voice _sounded_ so intensely personal, so intimate. 

Bruce rubbed a hand across his face, trying to keep centered. 

Clint switched to gently tapping the back of one hand rhythmically against his still-slightly-damp thigh, and with the other hand he signed, <You ok?>

<Distract me,> Bruce responded. He kept his eyes glued to that hand, and he determinedly didn't listen. 

<Where'd you learn to sign?> Clint asked. <You're pretty good.>

<I'm a little rusty. Haven't had many reasons to use it since Harvard. Betty and I had a friend. She gave me a name.> He held up a hand in a combination of the letters B and R, which bore a superficial resemblance to the Vulcan salute. 

<Yeah, that's you,> Clint replied, grinning. <Okay, go.>

The sound Bruce ended up making was rather pained, but when layered over with Clint's stuttering moan, Bruce knew it worked. It was working for him. He shifted uncomfortably. 

Clint's free hand was moving again. <Almost done. So hey, what about the German? You speak like a native apparently?>

Bruce sighed noisily, and focused. <Picked it up studying Erskine's original papers and studying what was left of his equipment from Schmidt, interviewing other people who were involved with the project pre-SSR. I've always had an interesting learning curve with languages. I pick up the accent almost perfectly well before I become fluent.>

<Cool. I'm crap at accents, probably because my ears aren't great. I miss the subtleties.> Clint had started moaning Bruno's name, which was really weirdly at odds with his calm, clear-eyed expression and coherent dialogue in sign. 

<Well, you're freakishly good at this, then,> Bruce replied. 

<Okay, time for the big finish, I think. Just another few seconds.> Clint was practically gasping now, and Bruce followed his lead, breathing hard and nervously making some kind of garbled noise. Clint yelled, and then stopped making any noise except the harsh breathing, bringing both his hands back into play for conversation. <See, you did perfect. Not so hard, is it?>

Bruce glared. 

<Okay, so it's not your thing. We'll figure something out.> Clint flopped back onto the bed with a satisfied sigh. Then he turned concerned eyes on Bruce. 

Bruce sighed slowly. <I'll deal with it.>

<Okay, just let me know what you need.> Clint smiled hopefully. 

Bruce nodded, and got up to get ready for bed. "I'll be right back," he said softly. "Don't go anywhere, okay?" 

"Mmm, I like your bed a lot better than your couch," he agreed. 

Bruce took the bathroom first, then Clint took a turn while Bruce changed into his pajamas. Bruce got into bed, and Clint approached again hesitantly. <Should I actually take the couch?>

<No, come here, the bed's huge,> Bruce signed. <And I should get used to your presence if this is going to work.>

Clint's eyes were a mixture of curiosity and concern and something Bruce couldn't read, but he turned out the light and slid into the bed willingly enough. 

Bruce leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "Good night, Clay." 

"Night, Bruno," he mumbled in return, and pulled the covers up, snuggling in. 

Bruce was surprised to find he slept well. 

* * *

As they spent more time casually touching in public, some things about the pretense became easier, but others became harder. Their little radio play was a little of each, as Bruce devloped a sense of what was going to happen and how to participate, but also the closer attention he paid, the more it made him regret some of his choices. 

Clint sounded beautiful. Bruce didn't want to be pretending. 

But this was not about them; it wasn't about either of them. It was about the Hydra splinter organization Nat had infiltrated, and not letting them know that any of the Avengers were on to them. And Bruce could not afford to get into a position where his emotions might be thrown into turmoil, because when that happened, the result was not subtle. 

But the only thing they could really do to reduce the chance of that would be to speed up the timetable. 

* * *

Clay proposed to Bruno in a beautiful spot overlooking the city, and when Bruno agreed, Clay picked him up and spun him around, whooping. Bruno's eyes widened and he laughed. 

"Holy shit," he said as he was set down. "I did not expect you to be able to do that." 

Clay shrugged. "You look heavier than you are. Besides, think there might be a little adrenaline at play here. I really - Brunie, I really hoped you'd say yes." 

"Why wouldn't I?" Bruno asked. "You're pretty incredible." 

"Well," said Clay, "it has been less than a month. But baby, I really don't want to go back home without you." 

Bruno held Clay's hands in both of his, and looked at him contemplatively. "I'll miss Luxembourg," he said. "But I'd miss you more." 

They both smiled, and pressed their noses together, and were generally insufferably cute for the rest of the day. 

* * *

Clint went to the secondary drop point sometime the next day, a spot in the restrooms of the public library. Nat had left a couple of flash drives with all the new data she'd managed to acquire. After Bruce had gotten a chance to analyze the data, he looked worried. 

Safely ensconced in their curtained bedroom, Clint asked, <Problem?> by touching the knuckles of the first two fingers of each hand together and twisting, then quirking one index finger and raising his eyebrows inquiringly. 

<They might be getting a little closer to the serum,> Bruce answered. <I don't think they know that, though. Still no new test subjects.>

Clint nodded. <Good. Glad you agreed to do the operation our way?>

<Yes. This is a lot more than I would have gotten on my own. If you hadn't stopped me and talked sense into me, likely the base would be rubble and the research moved.>

<Knew you were a genius.> Clint smirked at him. Then he returned to speaking aloud. "So, fiancee. Want to put down that incredibly boring-looking article and celebrate the fact that you're done work for the day?" 

Bruce sighed softly and put his laptop aside. "I am a little tense," he said. He put a smile into his voice but his eyes were speculative and wary. 

<Problem?> Clint asked again, frowning this time. 

Bruce closed his eyes, breathing for a moment. <I really don't want to fake it again.>

<No problem. Act tired?>

<That's not going to work every day until we can make our escape. I don't want to put you in danger, or pressure you into anything, but... this is wearing on me.>

Clint's eyes were bright and curious. <It's totally up to you, I'm in this for whatever happens. So just tell me what you want.>

Bruce rubbed his hands across his face. <I want you,> he signed. 

<You got me.> Clint smirked. <S is for stop, okay? Let me know if you're uncomfortable.>

<You mean more than I am now?>

Clint's smile turned rueful. <Ok, that works.> Then he slid up beside Bruce on the bed, curling arms around him and kissing him on the cheek, just the way he did when they were out on the balcony or in a cafe. Situation normal. No immediate threat. 

Bruce sighed, relaxing back into Clint's arms. 

Clint just went with that for a while, holding Bruce and rocking him gently. For the microphones, he said, "Wow, babe, you are more than just a little tense. You could use a massage, I bet." 

Bruce shifted, looking at him sidelong with raised eyebrows. "Yeah, are you offering?" 

"I would love," he said, punctuating his words with another little smak on the cheek, "to give you a massage." 

"I am certainly not going to turn that down." Bruce shifted enough to kiss Clint softly on the mouth, then leaned forward far enough to take off his shirt. 

Clint really was very good at massage, and strong, of course. Bruce was rapidly turning into a puddle, almost drooling on the pillows, and he firmly reminded himself that they were being listened to and he still needed to keep some filters up. 

"Elise was right," he mumured. "I'm keeping you." 

"Damn right you are," he answered from above Bruce, before pressing his knuckles into exactly the right spot under Bruce's shoulderblades, making his muscles ache and burn and dissolve into blissful goo. Bruce moaned loudly. 

Red-faced, he thought that he was already doing a better job at sounding like he was having sex than he had last time. 

Clint chuckled. "Bruno, what did you ever do without me?" 

Bruce huffed. "Had an incredibly unsatisfying life, apparently." 

After a while, Clint's touches turned lighter, and his hands trailed through Bruce's hair, down his back and across his whole body in long, gentle strokes, and Bruce could feel himself getting very interested in doing some touching in return. 

"Mmm, that's good," he said. "Now let me up." 

Clint laughed again, bright and pleased, and climbed off of Bruce, sliding down beside him on the bed. Bruce rolled up onto his side and pulled Clint closer, kissing him slow and deep, allowing more want to the surface than he had dared to before. Clint whined, and through the layers of boxers that still separated them, Bruce could feel his dick twitch. Bruce sighed into the kiss, letting himself feel everything. 

It was better than Bruce remembered, and he wished he really could keep Clint. 

* * *

Clay Johnson and Bruno Werner got married on a bright and sparkling day in early August, at the Diekirch city hall, with a handful of Bruno's work friends attending. It was beautiful, simple but heartfelt, and some of the onlookers cried. 

The kiss felt different than all their previous kisses, but Bruce banished that thought from his mind. It had to be just his imagination, or Clint acting the part. 

They planned to start applying for Bruno's visa the next day. His coworkers were sad, but they understood. 

"Du liebst Clay," Elise said, eyes moist. "Ich kann erkennen." 

It was a lot easier to not feel the impact of those words when German was actually only his second language. 

He couldn't afford to love Clint. 

Clint was Natasha's, not his. 

* * *

Bruce tried very hard not to think about the end of this life, about the visa that would be arriving in the mail. All he wanted was to be near Clint, to feel those strong arms around him and those warm hands on him, to belong to someone again. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed it. 

Part of him hoped that there'd be some problem with the paperwork, that they'd be forced to stay for a month longer, or two. But the visa came, right on time. 

Bruno said heartfelt goodbyes to Elise and his other coworkers, but he was following his heart. 

Bruce wasn't sure whether he was chasing something, running from something, or just being tossed on the tides. 

* * *

Once their plane was over the Atlantic, Bruce began to relax, just a little. But he still played his part, just to be safe, he told himself. He still tangled his hand with Clint's on the armrest. 

Clint, for his part, snored lightly and drooled into Bruce's shoulder. 

Bruce sighed, laid his head against the top of Clint's, and admitted to himself that he had a problem. 

* * *

They caught a cab at the airport, getting lost in the shuffle of people that was New York, asking the driver to drop them off at Grand Central. They walked the short way to the tower from there, heading up to the Avengers floors. Once they were in the elevator and under Jarvis's watchful cameras, Bruce felt like he could talk aloud freely for the first time in months. 

"Is Natasha going to extract herself, now that we're clear? Will they know?" 

"Nah," Clint said, unworried. "She'll give it some time. In a few days, the woman whose face Tasha has been wearing will be found 'accidentally' shut up in the farthest deep freeze unit. No reason to think it's more than that, or related to us in any way. They might get suspicious, but it'll be a little late." 

Bruce winced. "Natasha frightens me," he said. 

"Eh, that researcher was the one in charge of tissue samples, and was the one most strongly advocating for new test subjects. Killing her probably saved a few civilians." 

Bruce sighed. "Well, I'm going to go over this data again now that I have access to all my own equipment, and Jarvis. I want to see how much the avenues they're pursuing have merit." 

He really didn't think they did, but he needed to get Clint out of his head, needed to get lost in one of his projects. He needed to hide. 

* * *

About a week later Steve finally went fishing for scientists, dragging both Bruce and Tony out into the communal floor for a team dinner with him, Sam and Clint. It was nice; Bruce had forgotten how nice it was to actually chat casually with a whole room full of people who knew most of his secrets and had lives just about as bizarre as his. 

Bruce stuck close to Tony, caught up with Steve and Sam on their current project, and mostly just tried really hard not to think about pressing himself to Clint's side and stealing kisses between bites. He failed miserably. 

Then, of course, Natasha walked in, all blonde curls left over from her cover and a little secretive smirk, and did exactly what Bruce was longing to do - she wrapped herself around Clint and kissed him thoroughly, then leaned her forehead against his cheek. 

Clint rubbed a hand up and down her back. "Welcome back, Nat," he said, smiling softly. "Missed you." 

"Somebody had to do the hard work," she deadpanned. "You two were so busy being on vacation. And that surveillance tape was really something," she teased, and punched him in the shoulder a little. 

Bruce coughed, finished his bite, and excused himself rather abruptly. 

He had a serious problem. And he didn't know if he could stay in the tower any more. 

Well, at least he was now back in the habit of living whatever life he got thrown into, of being careful, of watching his back. 

* * *

Nat came and found him in his rooms, slouched in an armchair and staring at a blank wall. 

She cleared her throat. Bruce didn't look at her. 

"If this is the part where you tell me to back off or else," he said, "don't worry. I plan to back off pretty far." 

"Don't. You. Dare," she told him, and her voice was low and intense and much closer than he'd anticipated. When he looked up, he found that she'd moved noiselessly to lean down over him with piercing eyes. 

Before he could ask her what she was talking about, she continued. "Don't you dare run away, Bruce. We don't do jealousy, and if you ran away, he'd tear himself up over it." 

Bruce sighed. "He loves you, though. Our thing... it wasn't real. It wasn't really anything." 

Natasha clicked her tongue. "I can't believe you haven't realized yet how much love that man has in him. It wasn't nothing. It's never nothing. He gets very attached to people very easily and then pretends it doesn't hurt when they leave because that's how he functions." She crouched in front of Bruce now, her eyes level with his. "I know myself, Bruce. I am not everything he needs. But if I left him because of that, I would just make everything worse. And you? You're good for him. You're a lot of those things I'm not. Kind. Caring. And in need of him, too." She shook her head. "So don't make the mistake of thinking it was just a mission to him, or just a lay." She stood, half turning away. "And tell him how you feel." 

Bruce bit his lip, watching her in silence, trying to figure out how true all of that was. He didn't speak again until she'd moved to leave. 

"You can be kind," he told her. "When it's important." 

She smiled a little and replied, "And you can't _not._ " 

Without another sound, she was gone. 

* * *

Bruce thought about that for a long time. 

All that time in Luxembourg, it had never really been about whether Clint was sincere. Clint cared about him, and on some level he'd known that. But some part of his mind insisted that Clint belonged to Natasha. 

Maybe the same part of his mind that kept trying to tell him he could never have the good things in life, never truly be at home anywhere. The same things that kept him running even though he knew he had people now. He had a place. 

He'd had a place that felt comfortable, that felt like home. But it didn't anymore. 

Well, either Natasha was right, and he needed to figure things out with Clint, or Natasha was wrong, and he would run. But it made sense to find out for sure, before he left. 

He found Clint coming out of the range, catching up on his long-neglected practice. 

"We should talk," he told the archer. 

"Yeah, okay," said Clint, seemingly unconcerned. "My place?" 

Bruce felt his hopes wither a little. But he knew Clint's reactions to things were often nonstandard, and he followed Clint to his rooms. 

Clint got a couple of bottles of water out of his fridge and plunked one down on the counter in front of Bruce before he began downing the other. When it was half gone, he looked to Bruce. "Shoot, Doc. What's on your mind?" 

"I miss you," Bruce said simply. "I miss what we had. Or what we pretended to have. A lot." 

Clint looked slightly sad. "Me too," he said. "It was nice. Glad I got the chance to help you with that." He looked off to the side, into the distance. "But I'm figuring there's a good reason you've been kinda scarce lately." 

"I know you and Natasha have been together for a long time, and you have very strong ties." 

"That's true. Kinda figured it might be a deal-breaker for you," Clint said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Most people don't wanna feel like they're competing with the Black Widow." 

"But I wouldn't be, would I?" 

Clint looked down. "Nat... she's stuck by me, when she didn't have to. Thinks she still owes me something for not killin' her that one time, maybe. I dunno. She's not my everythin'. But she's part of me now, and I don't think that's ever gonna change." 

"And I would never ask you to change that," Bruce said. 

"So what now?" Clint asked, a tiny bit of a concerned frown on his face. 

"Clint Barton," he said, reaching out and holding the other man's hand, "would you do me the honor of being my boyfriend-who-sometimes-also-sleeps-with-our-friend-Natasha?" 

Clint's smile was wide and warm and wondering. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, Bruce. All you ever had to do was ask." 

* * *

Two weeks later, when Bruce woke up naked in Clint's bed, bleary eyes finding Natasha's sharp ones as she carded fingers through Clint's hair, and Clint pulling him in for a deep, slow kiss, Bruce reached out to wrap proprietary arms around his boyfriend, and he felt perfectly at home. 


End file.
